


The Voice of Hu

by AldamuzOfQuayth



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Campaign Playthrough, Magic, Not-Faerûn, Roleplay, Roleplay Logs, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-16 05:09:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16079105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AldamuzOfQuayth/pseuds/AldamuzOfQuayth
Summary: A new echo hurtle in the world, a long lost sound nobody knew still existed.





	The Voice of Hu

Lands in the seas of Hargon and Haragaer are scarce and rocky, spaced out, stern and wild. When men arrived riding their dark wooden ships, they found refuge in them. They built their temples and cities, plucking the fruits from the land and learning to listen to the Voice that echoed in the mountains, in the forests, in the inner sea of Vaalbar, and in the humid plains of Han and Lu. They learned to follow their flow, to erect their temples in the nodes where the song lingered; and with time, they learned to read it and to sing it as well.

What had started as scattered camps, grew into towns, and the towns ripened and cities arose; they let go their mother’s laps and deepened in the fog of the seas and between the highest mountain’s peaks. They searched for metals in distant lands, they looked for gems in caves and sand, and ushered war towards them, and extended their dominion on the land. But the time passed and weariness bended their swords, and the song of Aumar quietened; and with their silence those men were gone. From the slumber, the Agrim were born, who seized the Voice and twisted it, embankened it, and corrupted it. And in their slumber the Voice they perverted, and directed its singing, and their madness impinged the beasts and men; they were invaded by urge, and darkness opened its doors and dryed the nodes, and the Voice went silent, and over the lands the weapons roared. Without the Voice, the Agrim stub out their fire, their cities burned and dead encroached their towers; but hidden in the shambles, they lingered.

The lands stepped again into the murmur of sleep and they rested, but the Voice sang no more. And the men ceased to hear it in the forests and the rivers, in the mountains and the seas, and despaired. They changed their names and divided the lands, they built walls and on the walls, battlements. And within generations they forgot the Voice and filled their silence with marble and gold, with red wood, and pain and blood. And they built temples for themselves and sang songs of forgetfulness, of shame and horror, and in their prayers the fear of the fathomless void left by the Voice, grew. The same fear that dwelled in her, for it had been chained, distorted and defiled. She had fled to find refuge in the abysses of the sea and caves, away from the light that harmed her, and she slept.

Aeons passed, and in darkness and silence, she awoken and despaired, and yearned for the caresses of those who once molded her to erect their temples and cities, those who used to sing with her, those who had learned to sing with soft and subtle voice. But the fear that nested within her, held her back and didn’t rise. But she whispered in the dreams of men and called them by their name, and sang and taught them again to mold, to sing her song, to create and trace their cities, and to remember. Some heard her and looked for her, others went mad and there were others who changed and could not longer be. And the sleepers and the deaf, men who didn’t hear the song in the wind or the dreams, feared. They saw those others, nestling between them, talking to the flames and playing with light, naming lightnings in stormy nights and sharing with the stones the whispered secrets of color and shades.

Men feared and distrusted them, because they heard the Voice of ancient tales and they called them many names. They dwelled among them and were advisors and healers, watchmen and warriors, and brawlers. And they used the Voice to talk to the leader’s ears and placate the horrors that loomed their towns, and they found their place and they changed the world, and were called Inimm-Yar by men, chanter-kings, peacemakers, and they ruled. But others remained there, hidden, those who listening to the song changed themselves, and were their own metal in the Voice’s hands. They didn’t dwell in cracks and slits of the deaf and fearful world of Inimm-Yar, nor learned to fill their void. They walked among them and shook their hands, fought next to them and rigged their boats but the hymns of the Inimm-Yar they did not sing. Sly and subtle, the shape-shifter they were called, the invisibles. They were disturbing and men preferred to ignore them. A trail of hopelessness and disquietness, sometimes of madness followed them, of consumed minds, death and dread.  Among men the keepers walked unseen, their weapons, silence and discreteness. Their trail the Yars feared, because they understood. A new Voice waved with a light echo in the distance, in the deepness. The South Wind Voice.


End file.
